ORIGIN

Vargas listened, briefly lifting one massive forelimb to scratch idly at an itch on the other as the babysitter spoke. His eyes darted to the Sentinel, and he reiterated: "Ask questions! It is how we learn and grow. If it is me you are talking to I will warn you if something you say becomes foolish," he added. He, himself, had not been impatient with them: he was, if anything, encouraging of the seeking of new knowledge. Vargas always took the time to answer every question his spawn might ask, and as carefully as he could, and praised new learning and talent--and ability--where it showed itself.

It had been his job, after all, for centuries: the finding and developing of latent talents in all of the creations.

As for the missing word, he pondered on this, for a moment.

He, himself, had certainly not been created with love in mind. He was not a kind and caring beast (though nor was he needlessly cruel); affection alone was far beyond him, on most days. The closest bond he'd had with even his own spawn had been a pat to the head. There was no need for such things among monsters: the bonds that bound mammalian things, the demands of evolution upon networks of social creatures, strengthened in their survival prospects by teamwork, held nothing for him. No; his kind was set loose to wreak havoc, and nothing more.

But...

...He knew of these things, if only vaguely. He had an inkling that there had been bonds of such kinds between some of the Masters, perhaps before their ascension to power. "I was not created for such things," he began his answer, blunt and straightforward as usual. All the facts, and just the facts, but given thoughtfully, with care to his words. "But I think it exists in the things--especially warm things--that are not creations of the Masters. Things that would have died off without such feelings. It serves a purpose like fear: if you are afraid you run from a predator and therefore, you do not die. And then you reproduce. Those that run, then, have children who will run. Those that do not run, die, and that is the end of their line. It is like that with affection, I believe--the word you might be looking for is 'love.' It binds them to cooperate, it stifles disloyalty. It is possible you have gained that from your stonegiver; I do not know who it was. I warn you," Vargas added, and this had not the tone of threat but of genuine warning, "they may not all feel about you as you do about them. It is possible they have affection in them but they may not, those that are pure creations. But it is not a bad thing," he added, thoughtfully, "so long as it does not blind you. For example if one of them betrays you, tries to kill you--you cannot let emotion cloud your judgment. But is this what you are thinking of-? A strong bond, loyalty and the like?" He couldn't explain it any better, because Vargas was not the "loving" sort.

The closest he'd probably come was deep admiration of Vakornol: a desire to be around her more often, and perhaps that might have developed further had they had the time. But that was an irony, really, for Vakornol was little more than another Vargas herself; what did it say that the Leviathan most loved the thing that nearly mirrored himself..?

Facts laid out, he then turned to V-Agate-One. Her body language was--he thought, but wasn't certain--non-threatening, if not submissive; it was defensive, at the very least. He listened sombrely; she said her piece, and he thought she was trying to say that she hadn't known that she was toxic. "Again, my mistake," he told her; "I ought to have told you. I do not think you would have understood, anyway, or even listened," he added sourly, trying to imagine inserting all those words between her rainstorms of "fucks" and "grapes."

"But you say you did not mean to harm Chaos-Two. That is good," he said, with emphasis, without emotion: the very picture of a father teaching children. Just without that whole "love," thing. But it was certainly fair. Bar the whole twisting-wing thing, but then, most children didn't have toxic, paralytic quills and the ability to run horizontal along the walls screaming 'fuck you' at full and treacherous volume. "In that case, I will assume you can be trusted not to hurt them, or your sibling. My threats remain, if you do."

Vargas glanced to Chaos-Two. "Tell me if it stings you or the like again and I will punish it." Said loudly enough to be emphasized to the child, this was more for her benefit, to hear it, than for Two's. But still, Vargas wanted it clear that such behavior would be acted on.

"In the meantime, I will be over here," he finished, with a firm nod to a nearby, shallow alcove in the wall. He'd observe, but half-hidden, quiet; he'd let the children perhaps forget he was close by, and see how Chaos-Two fared.